Not a policeman, nor one of Su Yuqing's men. Lin Chen's heart sank.
He hesitated, not opening the door.
The assistant outside seemed to anticipate his reaction. He raised his wrist, glanced at his watch, and then said in a voice neither too loud nor too soft, just loud enough to penetrate the door, "Mr. Lin, Mr. Lu asked us to deliver something to you. Please open the door."
His tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable air of authority.
Lin Chen knew there was no escaping it. He gritted his teeth and slowly opened the door.
The instant the door opened, the "deliveryman" shoved the cardboard box into Lin Chen's arms roughly, then quickly retreated and disappeared into the stairwell. The whole process was so fast it took no time to react.
Only Lu Tianyu's assistant remained, still standing expressionless in the doorway, his gaze like a cold probe, sweeping over Lin Chen's pale and haggard face.
"Mr. Lin, the package has been delivered. Also, Mr. Lu asked me to pass on a message to you." The assistant's voice was flat, as if reciting a prepared text. "He said, 'It's okay for young people to go astray, the key is to know when to turn back. It's not too late to pull back from the brink. But if you're stubborn…'"
The assistant paused, his gaze sweeping meaningfully over the cardboard box in Lin Chen's arms, before slowly uttering the last few words:
"…Next time, it won't be 'packages'."
Without waiting for Lin Chen's response, he nodded slightly and turned to leave, his footsteps clear and cold in the empty corridor.
The door closed slowly, shutting out the outside world. Lin Chen leaned against the door, his heart pounding, almost bursting out of his chest. He looked down at the cardboard box in his arms, a strong sense of foreboding making his hands and feet go cold.
His hands trembled as he placed the box on the ground and opened it.
There was no bomb inside, no bloody objects. There were only a few seemingly ordinary things:
A neatly folded, yet stained with dried, dark red blood—his father Lin Jianguo's old gray work jacket.
An old-fashioned cell phone with a shattered screen, clearly violently damaged—his father's phone.
And a photograph. The photograph showed his mother's face as she lay unconscious in a hospital bed, the angle clearly a candid shot, the timestamp indicating it was taken recently.
"Buzz—"
Lin Chen's mind went blank; overwhelming fear and rage engulfed him like a tsunami. His legs went weak, and he knelt on the ground, his trembling fingers tracing the glaring bloodstains on the work jacket, picking up the shattered phone…
Father…they really did harm Father! And Mother! They didn't even spare his bedridden mother!
"Next time, it won't be 'things'." These words echoed repeatedly in his ears like a vicious curse. Next time…would it be his father's fingers? Or his mother's…?
"Ah—!!!"
A heart-wrenching, dying scream, like that of a wild beast, finally broke through Lin Chen's clenched teeth, echoing mournfully in the empty apartment. He clutched the blood-stained work clothes tightly, his nails digging almost into his palms, tears mingling with humiliation and overwhelming hatred, gushing forth.
This wasn't a warning.
This was an ultimatum.
It was a final intimidation and coercion, using the safety and flesh and blood of his loved ones.
They weren't negotiating with him; they were crushing all his will to resist in the most cruel way.